


All the Things I've Become

by tiny_white_hats



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Werewolf Big Bang, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2017-12-17 21:59:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiny_white_hats/pseuds/tiny_white_hats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Season 3, Oz accidentally infects Willow with lycanthropy. Divided into 3 chapters, each depicting one night of Willow's first full moon as a werewolf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Night

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything in this unofficial fanwork, nor do I claim to or profit in any way. I also don't own IHOP.  
> A/N: My entry for [](http://werewolfbigbang.livejournal.com/profile)[**werewolfbigbang**](http://werewolfbigbang.livejournal.com/)! Thanks so much to my wonderful artist (and beta) [](http://bluefire986.livejournal.com/profile)[**bluefire986**](http://bluefire986.livejournal.com/) who did a lovely job with the art and who was a genuine pleasure to work with! Check out her entire art post [here](http://bluefire986.livejournal.com/2151.html).

It had been a new moon on Graduation, and lycanthropy had been the last thing on anyone’s minds. Even Oz, whose thoughts never strayed from the wolf for too long, was distracted and worried, too busy making nervous jokes to give himself time to worry about everything. He wasn’t sure if he’d make it to see the summer, much less its first full moon, and Willow was even less sure. Neither teen wanted to be pessimistic or fatalistic, but, even so, every moment felt like Damocles’ sword hung suspended above them. They focused on the task at hand, striving to push out panic with each breath, putting their all into everything they did, researching, keeping watch, and making love like it was their last chance.

Two weeks later, once everyone had moved past the “Oh God, oh God, we’re all gonna die,” train of thought, thoughts of lycanthropy reasserted themselves like a flu that had very nearly been cured. Oz needed a new cage, Willow wanted to do Oz-Watch solo, and Xander wanted to make wolf jokes nearly constantly. Moving Oz to a new, unexploded cage was stressful, but it had nothing on the intense panic and tension the Ascension had, so, for as much as Willow fussed over the move, nobody was really all that worried.

Willow flitted around the crypt that had been outfitted to contain Wolf-Oz. It was dirty and cold and the stale, still air reeked of dust and age, but Willow had very nearly made it homey. Instead of privacy towels, since she figured she’d seen him all already, Willow had arranged tired old bedding and ratty towels in a makeshift bed in the corner of the cage, the mess of fabric looking like an oversized bird nest, painted in clashing shades of blue and green and pink. She’d set up a small table and chair facing the cage, piled with books of varying widths and a UC Sunnydale course catalog. There were two coolers tucked under the card table, one filled with cans of Coke and small snacks for the girl, the other with raw meat for the wolf.

On the other side of table, right below Willow’s shoulder, so she could grab it with a moment’s notice, sat a tranquilizer rifle, ugly and abrasive and unwanted beside the vibrant coolers and book covers. Oz did his best not to look at the rifle as he walked across the open floor behind his girlfriend; every time he saw it, the tranq gun reminded him just how dangerous he was and just how big a risk Willow was taking for him.

“IHOP, again?” Oz asked instead, watching the back of his girlfriend’s head.

“I’m not saying we have to make any decisions now, but, yes, IHOP.” Reaching her flimsy little card table, Willow neurotically began straightening and re-straightening her pile of books.

“You always want to go to IHOP,” Oz murmured, coming up behind her and putting a hand on her shoulder. She was nervous, her shoulders tight and unbelievably tense. He didn’t blame her. He was half terrified, and he wasn’t the one staying up all night to watch his boyfriend snarl and drool.

“Because it’s delicious, and they have crepes with strawberries for me, and eggs and bacon for you. And I like it, and we always go there, it’s a tradition and I like tradition, and-”

Oz tugged on her hand until she faced him and then he pulled her in for a kiss, cutting off her babble as suddenly as turning off a faucet. “Okay,” he responded, keeping his forehead pressed against hers. “IHOP in the morning. But now, I think I’d like to kiss you.”

“No complaints here,” Willow murmured, slipping a hand to the back of his head and pulling him in close enough to kiss. She knew they were cutting in close, but she very nearly didn’t care. She could almost feel sundown approaching, which would strike her as weird if she was thinking about anything except Oz, but she wanted Oz now. She didn’t want to spend her night watching him through a set of bars, not when she had just gotten used to spending nights in his arms. Willow kissed him desperately, pressing her body tightly against his. She hated letting him go for anything, especially the wolf.

“I’ve gotta go,” Oz breathed against her lips, words slipping out between kisses. “The wolf.” Willow didn’t answer, just began inching her way towards the cage, letting Oz shuffle with her. Oz had a hand in her hair and one sliding up and down her back, and she wasn’t ready to let go.

They had made it to the cage, standing in the open doorway, when they pulled apart. Oz was on one side of the bars, Willow on the other.

“I hate leaving you like this,” he murmured, reaching to tuck loose hair behind her ear with the hand that wasn’t holding hers as tightly as he could. He sounded just a little heartbroken to Willow’s sensitive ears.

“I know,” she murmured, cupping his cheek in one palm. “I do too.” It was necessary, she knew, and she repeated that like a mantra. She could already see the moon in his bright blue eyes, and knew the change was on its way. She pressed one last kiss to his mouth before smirking at him, trying to lighten the mood, just a little. “Now strip down, honey.”

Oz chuckled, though his laugh was nothing but dark and humorless, and handed her his shirt and pants.

He backed into his cage, but Willow caught his wrist before he could retreat into the dark shadows hiding the corners of the cage. “I love you, Oz,” she promised, staring hard at him until he answered.

“I know.” He quickly kissed her before pulling away and backing into the cage. “And I love you.”

“I know.” Willow gave him a little wave that managed to make him crack a smile and took hold of the cage door. Just as she began to swing it closed, Oz collapsed to the floor, panting and growling at her to hurry.

It was useless, though, because on the other side of the bars, Willow had collapsed as well, gasping for breath as the pain of stretching and growing and changing started.

“Oz,” she gasped, but he was too far gone to hear her, and, within seconds, she was too far gone to do anything but howl.

***

There were very few things Oz liked more than waking up next to Willow, and most of those things had to do with her anyways. He was less sold on waking up in the middle of forests, as he had learned the hard way a year and a half ago, but it was alright, because Willow was here this time. Oz smiled lazily, pressing a kiss to his stirring girlfriend’s head, before realizing that waking up in the woods with Willow was very much of the bad.

“Hey, you,” Willow murmured, her voice honey thick from sleep.

“Don’t look now,” Oz whispered, “but I don’t think this is your bedroom.”

“Is it yours?” she giggled, turning to nuzzle into his shoulder, her eyes still lidded.

“Maybe if I redecorated ‘Where the Wild Things Are’ style.” Oz was starting to piece everything together, and it was making an extraordinarily upsetting picture. Last night was a full moon, he was pretty sure, so that meant he’d wolfed out. He must have broken out of his cage last night. And if Willow was here too, there was no good solution to the question at hand.

Oz sat up suddenly, nudging Willow on his way. “No need to be all speedy quick, mister,” she grumbled, finally looking at him with open eyes. “It’s not like...

“Oz?” her voice trembled a little bit. Clearly, she’d put things together a little more quickly. It figured, this was the one issue he’d never been able to be direct and straightforward about, the one topic he’d always skirted around. “This is... I’m not sure what happened, on account of the last thing I remember being collapsing before I could close the cage, but I have a pretty good guess.”

“Does it involve howling at the moon?” Oz hedged, and Willow nodded slowly. He sank back down onto the woodland floor, covering his face in his hands.

“God, Willow. I’m so, so sorry. I never... I...” Oz’s voice was muffled by his hands, but somehow managed to sound cripplingly guilty.

“Hey,” she soothed, running her fingers through his hair, combing the tiny bits of grass out. “It’s not your fault, Oz. I don’t blame you for any of this.”

Oz didn’t respond to her words or her touch, he just lay on the ground, covering his face with his hands and hating himself more than he’d ever hated anything.

“Oz!” Willow cried, “Are you even listening to me?” There was no response, so Willow grabbed both of his hands and forced them away from his face. She kneeled over him and leaned down to look him in the eyes.

“Oz, listen. We can get through this. I’m not saying it’s not going take some getting used to. I mean, I’m probably gonna start panicking and freaking once this all sinks in, but that’s not the point. The point is that we’ll be okay. Okay, yeah, werewolf, but, you’re here, and I’m here, so it’ll all be alright. You’ll help me out. We’ll be just fine, Oz.”

Willow leaned down and kissed him lightly. “We’ll get through this, Oz. Together.”

“How?” Oz croaked. Looking down at his thousand yard stare, Willow almost wanted to cry; his eyes were filled with so much misery and self-loathing and fear that it was a wonder he was still functioning. “I made you a monster. Just like me.”

“Don’t say that! Don’t tell me you’re a monster when we both know that you’re not. We know about monsters, we fight monsters, and you’re not one of them. Every night that you lock yourself in that cage, you prove that.”

“I’m not human. And neither are you now.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Willow burst out, on the verge of tears. “None of that matters! Alright? What matters is that I love you, Oz. So, so much. And you love me, right?”

“Always.”

“So, sure, maybe now we’ll both turn hairy and snarly 3 nights a month, but at least we’ll be together. I was going to spend those three nights with you anyways, but now, at least I won’t be on the other side of the bars. And, yeah, I guess that somebody else will have to wolf-sit and we might have to reinforce the cage a little and, okay, Xander might say a few nasty things to you, but it’ll all work out.

“Just, don’t run away from this, okay? I don’t want you to feel guilty and awful and stuff. I just want you to be here, with me. Okay, Oz?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Oz whispered hoarsely, actually meeting her eyes for the first time all morning. “No promises on the guilt, but I’m not leaving you. Not ever.”

“Good,” Willow grinned, leaning down to kiss him. She knew that he was nowhere near close to being okay with this, she was really still processing it herself, but she was willing to believe things would be okay. They’d adjust, they’d cope, and they’d be in love. And, when Oz kissed her back, bringing his hands up to cradle her face, she truly believed that, just maybe, this didn’t have to be a bad thing.

*** 

A little over an hour later, Willow and Oz had made it back to the spare clothes in his van, and Willow had gone on to Buffy’s.

“Willow! I thought you’d be out with Oz. Is something up?” Buffy asked when she came to the door.

“What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong!” Willow exclaimed a little frantically, checking all over for bruises or cuts or a giant flashing sign reading _WEREWOLF_.

“No need to wig,” Buffy laughed, waving her friend in. “Just wasn’t expecting you. Or the grass in your hair.”

Willow flushed and her hands flew up to her hair. Sure enough, little bits of grass and clover were caught between strands of hair like confetti. “Oh, I, um...”

“No need to elaborate,” Buffy cut her off, smirking. “I don’t think I need to hear any stories that involve that much grass in your hair the morning after your boyfriend went Wild Thing on you, especially not when you’re blushing that hard.”

“Buffy!” Willow hissed, completely embarrassed and flushing an even deeper shade of red. Buffy just smiled innocently at her, troublemaker that she was, and headed into the kitchen.

“So, what’s up, Wills?”

“I kinda have a favor to ask, if you don’t mind or anything.”

“Shoot!” Buffy smiled, climbing up onto the kitchen counter and clutching a glass of milk.

“Would you mind wolf-sitting tonight?” Willow asked quietly, staring at her feet. Just over an hour ago, her feet had been paws, furry and rounder, with all of the bones shifted around. She hadn’t seen it, could barely remember the change, but she could imagine what she must have looked like, growling and savage.

“No sweat,” Buffy nodded, quickly pulling Willow’s attention away from her recently transformed feet. “Why can’t you?”

“I, uh, I’ll be there,” Willow stammered, avoiding eye contact studiously. “Only...”

“Will?” Buffy was starting to feel more than a little worried about her best friend. Willow was fidgety and distracted, gaze absent and voice hollow. Her mind was clearly somewhere far away, in a less than awesome place. The look on her face reminded Buffy of Angel when he would get mired down in years of memories of blood and death and savage joy. Willow wasn’t prone to brooding over anything, much less the dark past as a soulless killer that she didn’t have, and her ongoing brood was really giving Buffy a wig.

“I changed.” With a quickness, Willow focused, fixing Buffy with a haunted, baleful stare. She looked trapped, like a caged animal, and Buffy couldn’t help but sympathize; she knew intimately the feeling of being trapped, of bound into a role by things beyond her reach.

“You...changed?” Buffy blinked, trying hard to fit the whole story together, but it seemed like Willow was skipping whole pages of dialogue.

“Last night. I changed,” Willow whispered, and once again, Buffy was struck by the wild, animal-like desperation in the redhead’s eyes. “Into a wolf, Buffy.

“I’m a werewolf, now. It’s the only plausible solution, though, yeah, there are logical holes you could fly a spaceship through. And, I’m trying really hard to deal, because Oz is really freaking out, big time, but I’m not sure if it’s working. Buffy, does it sound like it’s working? Because I think I’m babbling again, and I’ve gotten so much better at that, but I really, really don’t know what to do.”

“Oh my God,” Buffy whispered, staring at her best friend with wide eyes. She hadn’t seen a bombshell like this coming, not for the life of her. Maybe she should’ve; maybe she should have realized just how contagious lycanthropy was, maybe she should’ve talked to Willow about it when she started sleeping with Oz. Maybe she should’ve done something, anything, but she hadn’t, and now her best friend was the latest victim of the darkness that clung to Sunnydale like a skin. “Will...”

“I love him, you know,” Willow continued on, pacing and twisting her hands around each other and darting her gaze to Buffy and away, as if she was keeping watch on a threat, or a hunter. “And it must have been so much worse for him, because he was alone his first time, and I’m not. I have him, and that makes it better, but...”

Willow broke off and froze in the middle of Buffy’s kitchen. She turned to face Buffy, making real eye contact for the first time since she’d arrived.

“Buffy, I’m so scared,” Willow whispered, and, Buffy hoped she was imagining it, but her eyes were different than they’d been the day before; darker green speckled with gold, pupils dilated in fear. “Oz isn’t dealing well at all. He blames himself and he’s all angry and broody. I didn’t even know Oz could brood! He barely listened to me when I told him I didn’t blame him. Oz never not listens!

“And I don’t know what we’re going to do. I don’t even know if the cage can hold two wolves! I want to be with him, always, but I don’t know what will happen when we’re both wolves. We’re out of control, and I don’t know what we’ll do. What if we get out? What if--”

“Willow!” Buffy shouted, making the werewolf jump. “Breathe. You’ve got to stop panicking. Everything is going to work out. Okay, so werewolf, but you’ll be okay. Oz survived, and he’ll help you through it. And you guys won’t be alone, you’ve got me and Giles and Xander and probably even my mom in a pinch. You guys will work it out, together, like always. So stop panicking, okay? Yes, it’s new and scary, but you were already a witch living on the mouth of hell. What’s a little lycanthropy on top of that?”

“You’re right,” Willow forced through gritted teeth, taking a deep, labored breath and hissing as she exhaled. “Freaking out isn’t going to make anything better.”

“No, it’s not,” Buffy smiled encouragingly, “but you’re doing fine, Wills. And nothing’s going to change for the rest of the month, okay? You’re still my best friend, even if you are going to get furry tonight.”

“Thanks, Buffy,” Willow smiled weakly, leaning her head against the Slayer’s shoulder and letting Buffy wrap an arm around her.

“Any time, Willow.”


	2. The Second Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the second full moon sets, Willow and Oz have to break the news to their friends.

Buffy had walked up the stairs a few minutes ago, promising to come back down as soon as she heard the first howl. In the wake of her absence, the crypt was filled with a stale silence and fear-sour air.

“Does it hurt?” Willow asked quietly, eyes wide and field green. “The change? Last night it was sorta sudden, but, does it hurt when you know it’s coming?”

Oz considered for a moment, folding her hands in his and looking thoughtful, as if he were determining just how much he ought to spoil. “Not really. It’s weird, though. You feel like you’re stretching too far, like taffy or something.” Willow didn’t look reassured, so Oz squeezed her hands in his and smiled, just a little. “It’s scary, but you’ll get through it. Promise.”

“Alright,” Willow nodded, stepping closer to slip her arms around Oz and to tuck her head against his shoulder. They stood together, arms twined around each other like vines, quietly for minutes.

Oz could hear Willow breathing, steady but shallow against his neck. The last sunbeams of the day were filtering through the high, decorative window of the crypt to dance against their feet, and he could feel the moon rising, sense night drawing closer in some deep, primal part of him.

“It’s time,” he whispered, and his voice was like a growl. Every change, he worried that he grew a little closer to the wolf, but this time, all he could worry about was Willow. He stepped away to pull off his shirt, gaze not moving from her, and he watched her eyes grow round. “C’mon, Will,” he soothed, taking her by the wrist and leading her across the cage. She didn’t make any move to undress, so Oz slowly began to unfasten the buttons on her shirt, one after the other.

“It’s gonna be fine,” he soothed, tucking loose hair behind her ear. He couldn’t help but appreciate the irony in this; just this morning, Willow had been the one soothing him, but now, she was just as scared as he had been. The wolf had that affect on people.

“I know,” Willow answered quietly, wearing her Resolve Face. “We’re gonna be alright.” They finished undressing quietly, before tossing their discarded human clothes through the iron bars. Oz rattled the door, checking the lock one last time, and reality set in again. He wasn’t alone back here, not anymore, because he’d changed Willow. She was cursed now, like him, and no matter what she said, it was all his fault.

“I’m sorry.”

Willow stepped toward him and, with one hand, raised his chin so he looked at her instead of the cracked, stone floor. “I love you,” she answered, and then she kissed him.

It was hard and fierce and possessive, not one of her usual sweet kisses. She rarely kissed him like this, like an animal, but with the moon rising, making their blood churn, he couldn’t imagine another way to kiss. He grabbed her hips and pulled her against him, a low growl of approval welling up from the back of his throat.

The change started, sudden and breathless, and Willow cried out. “I love you,” Oz promised, getting a quick smile before Willow collapsed on all fours, panting. He was there beside her in a moment, doing his best to hold on to his humanity for a while longer, just long enough to be with Willow until she lost hers. Fur was sprouting and he growled beside her as he felt bones and muscles shifting and growing. After a long terrible moment, it was over, and Willow and Oz were gone. In their place, two ferocious wolves rose, howling.

***

The morning after was far more awkward than anything Willow had ever experienced. Buffy’s blushing and question evading and refusal to look at either of them straight was setting Willow on edge. Something had made Buffy uncomfortable, and Willow was just praying that it wasn’t her new wolfyness. She needed her best friend, now more than ever.

“Buffy,” Willow called once she and Oz had pulled on the clean clothes that Buffy had slipped through the bars just before they’d changed back.

“Willow! You were right- you’re a werewolf!” Buffy grinned at the wall just above Willow’s shoulder, grinning widely as she walked back into the crypt. “And, Oz. You’re both werewolves, together...”

“Buffy, can you let us out?” Willow cut her off sheepishly, sure that Buffy was about to go off on another embarrassed ramble. Buffy nodded, fumbling with the lock on the cage and smiling so wide the whole time that Willow kept waiting for the skin around her grin to start to crack and chip away.

“Buffy. Are you okay?” Willow asked, taking a tentative step towards Buffy. Buffy flinched away from her outstretched hand, and Willow’s heart sunk a little in her chest. Her best friend was afraid of her, and it hurt so badly that Willow was afraid she’d throw up. “No, you’re not okay, are you? You’re totally freaked.”

“No way!” Buffy exclaimed in surprise, eyes wide and waving her hands like she would while playing traffic controller. “I’m not freaked, really. I promise, I have no problem with you, either of you, going fuzzy.”

“Seems to me something’s got you spooked,” Oz remarked calmly, coming up behind Willow, placing both hands on her shoulders and leaning down to press a kiss to the base of her neck. Buffy cringed upon seeing the kiss, and all of a sudden, Willow knew what had her so wigged.

“Buffy, last night, did we, uh..y’know, well, y’know?” Willow asked tentatively, a blush lighting up her face like a lantern.

“Uh, little bit,” Buffy returned, making solid eye contact with a smudge on the floor. Willow had never seen her best friend look so awkward and uncomfortable, but Buffy had never seen her and Oz doing things before now, so it kind of made sense. The idea of Buffy seeing it was even worse than the time Snyder had given her and Oz a public telling of for kissing quickly in the hallway between classes, which had been absolutely nightmarish at the time, and Willow almost wished that she was still a wolf, just so she could avoid this conversation.

“Buffy, I’m so sorry, we--”

“It’s okay, Will,” Buffy cut her off, laughing uncomfortably. “Call of the Wild, nature, all that. I get, really. No need for further discussion. Really.”

“Buffy...”

“I’ve really gotta go. Promised Mom I’d be home for breakfast, for waffly goodness and all, and I know you two like to head to IHOP, so I say we all head out and breakfast. Not that it’s really breaking my fast, y’know, since I was snacking away all night, but it’s all the same really.”

“Bye, Buffy,” Oz called, the tiniest hint of amusement detectable to Willow’s ears, watching the flustered Slayer inch towards the doorway as she continued to talk, seemingly unable to quit.

“Bye,” she gasped, shocked out of her babble, turned tail and fled.

“Well, that really couldn’t have been any more horrific,” Willow sighed, turning to bury her face in Oz’s shoulder.

“Nah, could’ve been Xander.”

“Oh man,” Willow moaned. “He’s going to wig.”

“We could not tell him. He starts road tripping next week.”

“We can’t not tell him! He’s our friend and a Scooby and he’ll find out anyways and, ohhh, we have to tell Giles, too! They’re going to be cross and Giles will make his clucking noise and give us disappointed face and Xander’s probably gonna hit you, and it’s going to be so, so bad!”

“This is between you and me. What they think doesn’t have anything to do with this,” Oz shrugged, completely unconcerned. Willow was baffled by his nonchalance (but then again, she’d always been awestruck by his complete disregard as to what others thought of him), but she really, really, very strongly did not want to think more about what Xander and Giles would say when they found out, so she grabbed both of Oz’s hands in hers and squeezed.

“IHOP?” she grinned hopefully, absolutely starving after a night as a wolf.

“IHOP,” Oz agreed, and they crossed the crypt and walked out into the morning together.

***

 

Willow couldn’t remember a time when she felt more in touch with nature. Despite everything she’d been reading about Wicca, about the importance of the earth and the Goddess, how every living thing was part of the same system of energy, this was the first time she could feel that connection. Lying flat in her sunlit backyard with her head on Oz’s chest, she felt like a part of the whole. In just a tank top and her shortest shorts, Willow could feel hundreds of blades of grass press against her elbows and calves and her lower back, where her tank top started to rise up. She smelled the rich dirt and freshly mown grass and something indelible, earthy and warm and alive, like the smell of summer itself. She could hear, as if for the first time, all the songs of all the birds she’d never stopped to listen to, and, steady beneath her ear, she could hear and she could feel Oz’s heart keeping perfect time with her own.

“Is it always like this?” Willow whispered, voice hushed. Oz could hear her whisper, probably could’ve heard her if she just breathed the words, even over the sounds of birds and insects and what sounded like every car and bus and train in the world blaring down her quiet little residential street. “Like you can sense everything?”

“Little bit. It comes and goes with the moon.” Willow could feel his words rumble from deep within his chest, each one careful and deliberate. It smelled like Oz, too, she decided, the comforting, earthy smell of Oz, tinged around the edges by something animal, something other, blending perfectly with the million smells of nature. He was just as natural as any of the hundreds of blades of grass tickling her back, she realized, and now, so was she.

“I like it,” she smiled lazily, feeling sunbeams dance across her face with a new clarity. “It’s like we’re one with nature,” she giggled. “Like we’re finally home.”

“I get that.”

“I feel different too.” Willow pulled one hand out of the grass, pulling it to Oz’s head and combing her fingers through his hair. It was orange this week, just like hers. “All energetic and restless, but I don’t know what to do with all that energy.” She rolled over onto her side, bringing her face frustratingly close to her boyfriend’s, cupping his cheek with the hand that had been in his hair.

“I know the feeling,” Oz smirked, meeting Willow’s eyes and finding a mirror image of his own restlessness in them. He leaned up just an inch to kiss her and felt her immediately respond. Every moon since the change, he’d felt this same clawing, aching need for Willow, from somewhere in that murky part of him where he wasn’t just Oz or just the Wolf. Now, rolling her onto her back and holding himself over her, the Wolf crowed in pleasure. He finally got to learn what Willow tasted like when the moon was in his blood, now that she needed it like he did. Before, Oz had shied away from her during the wolf moon, worried about going too fast or too far, terrified of hurting her, of changing her like the Wolf wanted. Now, he didn’t have to.

“Oh, wow,” Willow panted, flipping them over again and straddling the other werewolf. “Is this why you never wanted to snuggle on full moons? Because, wow. Lots of lusty feelings right now.”

Oz grinned up at her, capturing her face in his hands and meeting her for a kiss. Still kissing, they rutted against each other like wolves in heat, which Willow supposed was a rather accurate comparison, before remembering the layers of clothes separating them. Willow yanked off his shirt in a flash and seconds later he had her tank top off as well.

Grinning wildly, Willow whispered against the skin of his neck, “I want you,” before she bit down, hard, on the junction between his shoulder and neck. She heard Oz’s throaty growl and pulled her lips away from her teeth in a savage predator’s grin. He was hers, and she was going to make sure everyone knew it. She kissed a path up his throat, settling above his carotid artery. She nipped and sucked at his pale skin, intent on leaving a mark, a symbol of her possession.

Willow felt wild and utterly wanton, her pupils blown so wide with arousal that she looked animal, and she’d never been more turned on in her life. As he pulled out of her kiss, she let Oz push her onto her back again, holding him pressed against her. He lowered his face to her neck, biting down in the exact place she’d bitten him. Inside her, the wolf growled in pleasure. He was her mate, and now he knew it just as well as she did.

“Mmm, Oz,” she groaned loudly, drowning out the noise of the rest of the world. Oz moved on, leaving behind a perfect crescent imprint of him against her skin, scraping her moon-pale flesh with his teeth and biting down softly every so often. She couldn’t hear anything but their mingled moans and ragged breaths and Oz’s occasional soft growls, couldn’t see, couldn’t smell anything but him. He was her everything, always, but when they were together like this, the cliché took on a more literal meaning.

Out of nowhere, Oz was suddenly yanked off of Willow, forced to his feet then soundly decked in the jaw. “Xander!” Willow shrieked, noticing Oz’s assailant. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Xander didn’t hear her. He was busy yelling at a slightly stunned Oz, who was still puzzling over the usually noisy Xander’s appearance. “You bastard!” Xander yelled, looking dangerously close to hitting Oz again. “What the hell are you doing to her?!”

“I don’t suppose kissing my girlfriend is an acceptable answer?”

“You looked like you were about to bite her! Bite her! How could you put her at risk like that?”

“We’re careful,” Willow hissed. “Now, please tell me what on earth you’re doing in my backyard right now?”

“Oh my God, Willow,” Xander gaped, finally turning to look at her. He quickly turned away and tossed her tank top at her, awkwardly glaring at the bush behind him. “Shirt, please!”

“Xander!” Willow growled, unbelievably angry at Xander for intruding on them. “Why are you here?”

“I can’t believe that’s really the only problem you’re seeing right now, Will! Did you not notice Wolf-boy chewing on your neck back there?”

“Leave him alone!”

“Only if he’ll leave you alone too!” Xander shouted, and he smelled afraid, seriously worried that Oz would hurt her. Willow wasn’t sure whether she should be more concerned with Xander’s feelings or with the fact that she could identify them by smell now, but neither option was particularly appealing.

“What we do is our own business, Xander Harris, and none of yours!”

“Will, he could turn you!” Xander pled, and his fear was starting to bleed onto his face, eyes wide and showing too much white. “Oh my God, Will, your neck!”

Willow slapped a hand up to cover her neck, feeling his eyes on the bite Oz had left behind. She could feel a sticky warmth seeping against her fingers and, with a sudden clarity, she scented a tangy, irony smell—blood. She hadn’t realized Oz had broken the skin, so lost in the rush of skin on skin, each touch seeming as if she had been feeling him for the first time. One glance at his neck told her she had been just as oblivious when she tore his skin, as well.

“You bastard!” Xander shouted, stinking of fear and rage and other heady, powerful emotions, wheeling on Oz and punching him once more. “You bit her, you freak!”

“Xander!”

“You goddamn monster!” Xander shoved Oz to the ground before Willow’s eyes, and Oz let him. Oz didn’t fight back at all, he just lay limply on the ground, just waiting for Xander to hit him again and again and again.

He wanted Xander to punish him, Willow realized. He wasn’t going to fight back, because he believed he deserved it. He still blamed himself for the impulsive accident that had transformed her, and he wanted to atone. Willow knew him better than anyone, she could tell just what he was feeling, but she wouldn’t let him suffer for this.

“Alexander Lavelle Harris!” Willow shouted, coming to her feet and stalking towards Xander. “Don’t touch him again.”

Willow pushed Xander back, snarl on the tip of her tongue. She was furious, raging like a wild animal, so like the beast she’d become. “Don’t you dare.”

Xander backed up a few steps, hands up and eyes wide, and she could tell that realization hadn’t sunken in yet. She could see his eyes jumping from the bite on her neck to the twin on Oz’s, see his forehead furrow, but it took a few moments before he realized, “He’d already turned you, hadn’t he? Before today?”

Willow nodded rebelliously, head high and gaze not drifting from his.

“And you’re a, you’re a-a, a wolf? A werewolf?”

“Yes,” Willow growled, eyes harsh as she glared at her best friend. Rationally, she knew that it was a lot to take in, she knew that she had struggled with the knowledge of her transformation, but she couldn’t help but be enraged by his reaction. He’d attacked Oz, called him a monster, and now he couldn’t even stand near her. Part of her wanted to spring towards him, rip and tear at him until he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t look at her like she was a something other. She wanted his blood smeared across her face and hands, staining the grass and soaking into the earth. It was terrifying, but she could feel the wolf scratching and howling inside of her, wearing away at her self control and dying to be let free. “I think you should go.”

“You know, I really think you’re right,” Xander responded feebly, backing out of her yard and down her driveway, not taking his eyes off of Oz and her, terrified that they’d attack the moment his back was turned.

Willow turned away from Xander’s retreating form, dropping to her knees next to Oz, who hadn’t done anything more than sit up since Xander had thrown him to the ground.

“I don’t blame you,” Willow murmured, tracing fingertips against the crescent bite mark she’d left behind. The small amount of blood the bite had shed had clotted and dried already, so she licked her fingertips and began wiping the blood off his neck. “It takes two people to have sex, you know.”

“Will...”

“No way, Oz,” Willow admonished gently, voice soft as fur, “no more guilt, okay?

“Okay?” Willow demanded again, poking him in the chest when he didn’t answer. Oz nodded and Willow relaxed, wrapping her arms around him again. “I don’t want to think about that or about Xander or about anything anymore. I just want you, none of that extra baggage you don’t really need to be carrying around.”

Instead of arguing about guilt and consequences, Oz kissed her again and, within seconds, they were lost to the world, dizzy with need and drowning in each other.

***

Giles needed to know about her newfound lycanthropy, really should’ve been the first person Willow told, but she’d spent the day before pretending that this encounter would never happen. She very literally couldn’t imagine anything more awkward that explaining to Giles that not only were she and Oz having sex when they were supposed to be stopping the apocalypse, but that they hadn’t taken appropriate precautions and, because of this, they had also discovered lycanthropy could be sexually transmitted.

So, it was with great trepidation that she walked with Oz to Giles’s door and knocked, praying for no answer. Her prayers went unheeded, as was always the case in Sunnydale, and Giles came to the door with a quickness, looking so excited to see them that Willow immediately felt bad for dreading this visit. Then, she remembered just what she had to tell him, and the dread came back, along with a new, funny vomiting feeling.

“Willow! Oz! I certainly wasn’t expecting you at all!”

“Hey, Giles,” Oz nodded, crossing the threshold and tugging at her hand. Oz looked totally calm and not at all awkward and uncomfortable, and Willow hated him for it. She squeezed his hand so tightly that she imagined she could hear bones grinding, and stepped behind him into the metaphorical belly of the beast. Which was ironic, really, seeing as the only beasts in the room were her and Oz.

“Hi, Giles,” Willow mumbled, premature blush staining her cheeks.

“What seems to be-- Dear God, are you alright?” Giles’s eyes were locked on her neck, staring at the red crescent of Oz’s bite on her neck as if it were a fatal wound. “Were you attacked? Vampires?”

“Not quite,” Oz answered blankly, drawing Giles’s eyes. Willow could practically see the gears turning in Giles’s head, spinning like waterwheels as his eyes caught on the bite Willow had left on Oz’s neck and then jumped between the two matching bites.

The moment Giles came to a realization, he turned to Oz and the fury in his eyes made Willow’s wolf stand up and howl in defense.

“Damn it, Oz! How could you be so bloody irresponsible? You...”

“Giles!” Willow shouted, eyes narrowed in rage. “Stop it! It’s not his fault, okay?”

“Not his fault?! He knew the risks yet he still infected you! That’s entirely his fault!”

“Neither of us knew, okay? Oz didn’t bite me, or, or scratch me, or do anything that we knew passed on the virus.

“It’s just, we didn’t think we were going to live through graduation. Maybe we should’ve been careful and used protection, but we didn’t. That’s on both of us. And, besides! We didn’t even know that you could pass the virus on through, well, y’know, sex. And, and we both made a choice, Giles. It’s not all Oz’s fault. He didn’t know, any more than I did, or any more than you did. We didn’t know, okay?”

“Oh,” Giles deflated, sliding his glasses off the bridge of his nose and raising both hands to rub tiredly at his temples. “I suppose you couldn’t have known at all. There’s never been a recorded case of lycanthropy being transferred through sexual contact. It simply hadn’t occurred to me to contemplate before now, but that absence seems peculiar, now that I think of it.”

“We just thought you should know,” Willow continued a little weakly, worried by the tired look on Giles’s face.

“It’s always something in this town,” Giles sighed as an aside, polishing his glasses. Willow couldn’t tell if he was talking to them or not, so she continued on as if he wasn’t, intent on getting as much information as possible.

“And, now that you know, I wanted to know if you could help us. Because there’s a lot about werewolves that we still don’t know, even though Oz has been one for a while. And it’s important that we know, don’t you think?

“Like, do werewolves typically form packs?” Willow asked excitedly, forgetting about the very real fear her new condition caused her in the face of new information. “And how do they choose mates? Is it a mate for life situation or are they more typically human in their romantic interactions? Is it possible to control the wolf, so that you could transform whenever you wanted? Oh, does lycanthropy change your diet, or make you crave meat or anything like that?”

“Willow!” Giles finally cut off her avalanche of questions after numerous failed attempts to halt her flow. “Pack forming habits vary depending on the disposition of each individual lycanthrope. As I understand it, werewolves mate for life with their first sexual partner after their first transformation.” Willow and Oz both blushed, Willow more dramatically than her boyfriend, and Giles interrupted himself with a protracted sigh. “Which, judging from your previous revelation and the sudden colouring of both of your faces, I would assume is the case with the two of you?” Both werewolves gave mute nods and Giles sighed again, slipping his glasses down the bridge of his nose and rubbing his temples.

“The rest of you questions, Willow,” he continued, making his way into his kitchen and looking over his counter at the two blushing teenagers as he calmly poured himself a glass of Scotch, “I’m simply unable to answer. The Watchers Council, as you may imagine, did not look too terribly favourably upon werewolves, and, as such, I lack a wealth of veritable information on them. Now that I’m largely estranged from the Council I should be able to collect some books that you both might find informative.”

“As for now, Willow, I have a few volumes that touch upon the subject of lycanthropy,” Giles continued walking towards the large bookshelf against his living room wall. “I believe you’ve read the lot of them already, Oz, but they should still serve useful.”

Giles motioned Willow and Oz towards his couch with his glass of Scotch before he set it down and began to pull books at random from his shelf. After a few minutes he deposited a small stack of volumes on the coffee table in front of the couple and disappeared into another room as they began to open the books one by one. Before long, Giles returned with another armful of books, which he placed just behind the first stack.

“These have less to do with werewolves in specific,” Giles sat in the armchair beside the couch, ignoring the pile of books in favor of taking another sip. “But, still, they have some content.”

The trio researched quietly for a while, the silence only broken by the turning of pages and by the occasional clearing of a throat or the muffled chime of glass when Giles picked up and put down his glass. Finally, after, to Willow’s mind, the silence had grown unbearable, she put down her book with a muffled thud and cleared her throat.

“Giles,” she asked tentatively, “are you angry?”

“Angry?” he asked, in a tone of slight bewilderment. Willow thought that was completely unfair, considering how utterly furious at Oz he’d been not thirty minutes before, but his confusion seemed genuine. “No, Willow, I’m not angry. I’m simply sad that you, both of you, must endure this. Life is tragically unfair, isn’t it?”

“Oh,” Willow responded quietly, leaning into Oz’s side. “I guess it really is.”


	3. The Third Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth comes out, and Willow and Oz survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final installment, months later. I hope you enjoyed.

There was just about nothing Buffy wouldn’t do for her friends, but this had just crossed the line. Without a backward glance she stole from the crypt, racing up the stone staircase as if chased. Spending the previous night with a mating pair of werewolves had been a uniquely horrifying experience, and Buffy was in quite a rush to avoid repeating it. She was sure Willow and Oz wouldn’t mind if she ran across the street to the 24 hour diner to get a coffee and to wait for an end to the wolf-sex, and what they didn’t know really wouldn’t hurt them.

Being entirely more responsible than Giles gave her credit for, Buffy went immediately back to the crypt as soon as she got her coffee, electing to drink it near the entranceway, where she could keep an eye on the wolves, or at least ensure they couldn’t get anywhere if they made a break for freedom, and still steer clear of any unwelcome sights or sounds. It sounded fairly quiet from where she was but Buffy didn’t really trust that, still suffering minor league trauma from the events of the previous night. Really, she would do a lot for her friends, but sitting quietly while they had loud wolf-sex in a cage in front of her was way too much to ask once, let alone twice. Besides, it wasn’t like they could escape without passing by her anyways, and Buffy was more than ready to fight a werewolf or two. Wolf sitting was even more boring than routine patrols, and all this sitting and waiting was putting her on edge, as if there was something else, something far more important, that she was supposed to be doing.

Buffy elected to wait until she had finished her coffee before she reentered the crypt, satisfied that she’d spent a long enough time to allow the two wolves to take care of business and to fall asleep. Creeping down steps like a thief, Buffy took care to slip like a shadow, wary of awaking either wolf. Even with Slayer hearing she couldn’t hear anything, for which she was profoundly grateful, which meant either both wolves had given into sleep or that something was terribly wrong. Always an optimist, Buffy decided to go with her first guess. As she reached the bottom stair and entered the crypt, Buffy realized just how wrong she had been.

Abandoned, the cage door swung desolate, pulled free from its moorings by the same wolves who must have bent the cage bars out of shape and created their own opening. There were no wolves inside, nor anywhere else Buffy could see; just a warped skeleton of a metal cage, empty like a rib cage.

“Oh, no,” Buffy whispered, fist tightening around her empty coffee cup like a snake, squeezing it until the Styrofoam snapped, breaking into chunks. “Oh, God no.”

Fast as thought, Buffy sprinted from the crypt, leaving the shattered cup in shreds on the stony floor, stopping only to grab the tranquilizer rifle. There were no tracks outside of the crypt, no trails of trampled bushes and no frenzied howls of wolves to guide her steps. There were just rows of undisturbed graves around her and acres of wild forests around those, a whole world for Willow and Oz to lose themselves in. It was Buffy’s job to find them, and save them from themselves.

So she ran. Buffy spent the night as a hunter, tracking even the barest hint of a  
trail, tirelessly beating her feet against paths she was forging herself. She ran through the sunrise, watching sunlight leak through the leaves like melting copper, feeling her heart sink with the moon. She had been too late, one step behind all night, and now it was done. Willow and Oz were human again, and if she had let anything happen, they would have to live the rest of their lives with what they had never intended to do.

Slowly, with a heaviness in her limbs, Buffy turned her path towards Giles’ apartment. She had bad news to deliver.

*

This whole waking up naked in a forest thing wasn’t exactly something Willow wanted to get used to. Nevertheless, here she was again, like déjà vu. If not for the fact that she must have run free last night, waking in the woods would be nice, her wolf senses slowly painting her a picture of the forest before she even cracked her eyelids. When she did open her eyes in the hazy, dawning light, it was like sensory overload; bitter tang of dirt and the crunch of a twig beneath her hip, as the sound of hundreds of squirrels and chipmunks and ants rustling through underbrush and the green glow of the forest, weak morning light filtering though mist and dew and leaves, surrounded her. It was glorious out here in the world, in a way Willow was nly just beginning to appreciate, alive in the way the ordered streets and homes of Sunnydale never could be. She could hear Oz’s heart beat as clearly as she heard him breathe, hear the funny hitch in his breath as he woke and hear his deep, restful breaths fall into sync with her own.

“We got out,” Oz announced in lieu of a greeting, pulling Willow out of her wonder as sharply as a kick.

“Do you think we...?”

“Can’t tell,” Oz shrugged, sitting up and running one restless hand through his hair, which was already wild as a bramble patch. “We should head back, and find out.”

“Yeah,” Willow breathed, and suddenly the forest seemed so much darker and bleaker than before. This was a place where things died and burned and decayed, and the shadows seemed to grow now that she remembered this. This was a home, yes, but it was also a place where dead things were buried and a place where things were killed.

“Oz, do you think Buffy’s okay?” Willow asked quietly after they had been walking for a couple of minutes, voice soft amongst the sounds of their footfalls onto dead leaves and the warbling of late summer birds. “She was supposed to keep us from getting out, but she didn’t, not really.”

“I think she’s okay. Actually, I’m starting to suspect she may be indestructible.”

“Yeah, but Buffy wouldn’t have let us get out,” Willow worried, becoming more agitated the longer she thought about it. “Not if everything was okay.”

“She probably found something more exciting to worry about. After the first night she spent watching us, I almost don’t blame her.”

“Oz,” Willow hissed out of reflex, too worried to be truly bothered by bawdiness.

“Just relax, Will. I’m sure everything’s fine.”

“You sure?” she questioned, beginning to relax just a little.

“I sound pretty sure.”

“Well,” Willow laughed, “then you must be sure. Everything’s just fine.”

*

Their first stop was Willow’s to grab Willow’s clothes and the change of clothes which her parents didn’t know Oz kept in her room. Then they headed to Buffy’s. She was gone, her house empty as an unfilled grave, and upon realizing Buffy’s absence Willow’s heart began turning violently inside of her chest, wracked with worry for her missing friend. This had been her fleeting, unrealized hope, that Buffy was safe at home, unhurt and unharmed, and finding it empty had dashed it like a rowboat against rocks. Something had kept Buffy from watching over them through the night and from returning home with the dawn, and that was absolutely terrifying to Willow.

“Maybe she’s at Giles’,” Oz suggested coolly, far more relaxed than Willow felt.

“Okay,” she agreed, trying to force a calm that wouldn’t come. “Sure, that would make sense, Buffy being at Giles. Because he’s her Watcher, and he’s just so Gilesey and Watchery, so it would be a good place to go if something went wrong. Which seems to have happened.”

“Though I appreciate your enthusiasm, worrying won’t help any of us,” Oz pointed out, not unkindly, reaching over to thread his fingers between Willow’s.

“I guess,” Willow acquiesced, but she didn’t truly stop worrying until they crossed Giles’s threshold to find Buffy pacing anxiously across Giles’ floor before the Watcher and Xander.

“Buffy! You’re okay!” Willow exclaimed, rushing through the door to embrace her best friend. “You’re okay, right?”

“I’m okay,” Buffy nodded grimly, pulling away from the redhead to take a piece of newsprint off of the coffee table. She handed it to Willow, motioning Oz closer so that he could read, before collapsing into an arm chair with her head between her hands.

Willow made it to the headline before her relief faded as suddenly as if a switch had been flipped. ‘Body Found Mutilated, Local Police Mystified’ read the headline in thick black print, words stretched across the front page in reflection of the enormity of the situation.

“Was this,” Willow asked hesitantly, terrified beyond belief of the answer. “Was this us?”

Between her palms, Buffy nodded grimly, and Willow could only stare at the words, knees feeling weak and threatening to give way below her. She made her way to the couch before collapsing and tunnel vision overtook Willow without warning, her entire world narrowing down to her and the headline in her hands. It was moments before she remembered the rest of the room, and by that time chaos had already broken out.

It felt like most futile game in the world, sitting with Oz on Giles’ couch while everybody passed around blame like a time bomb, each of then grasping for it as if hungry for an explosion. Willow felt lightheaded and weak, she hadn’t eaten anything since the night before the kill, but around her conversation circled like vultures, each calling over the others competing for attention. Oz, as always, was the quietest in the room, head in one hand and face blank, so upset that even he couldn’t bury it.

“Look,” Xander raised his voice and both hands, his exclamation breaking through conversation like a rock through a window. “This was awful and terrible and very much like Sunnydale, we get it. But we can’t change that. So what are we going to do to prevent American Werewolves in Sunnydale: Part 2?”

“Good, yeah, Xander. Let’s be a little more casual about this,” Buffy snapped, eyes wide and slightly crazed. She looked desperate and strained, overstretched and overburdened. Buffy blamed herself because she had stepped away from her duty for just a moment and it was in that moment that everything went to hell. She had made one simple, easy mistake, the first in years of sacrifices and victories, and she was blaming herself entirely, as if this one red mark in her ledger was enough to damn her even after all the good she had done.

It would be so much easier if Willow could blame Buffy too, if she could believe that this was all because Buffy failed in her sacred duty, not because she and Oz were monsters, the things Buffy was sworn to hunt down. It would be so much easier to live with herself if she could yell at her best friend for not keeping them from breaking out or catching them, if she could be furious at Xander for being too freaked out by her change to help Buffy, if she could rage at Giles for worrying that Oz’s cage couldn’t hold the both of them but not doing anything to strengthen it. It would be easier if she could give away blame like passing out party favors, but she couldn’t, shackled to her guilt like a beast of burden. This guilt was her cross to bear, hers and Oz’s, because they had just been monsters, but now they were killers too, and where their paws and muzzles had been coated in blood, they were forever stained red.

“I’m not being casual, I’m being practical,” Xander shot back, temper as tense and quick as a rubber band. Willow wasn’t sure if he had adjusted to the thought of her as a werewolf, or her and Oz as a mated pair, but even if he hadn’t, Xander was far too stubborn to let his own discomfort stop him from helping his friends. “There’s gonna be another full moon in 28 days and, believe it or not, these two are gonna change again. So, either we do something about that or we don’t, but I’m thinking that we should.”

“Well,” Giles cut in before further argument could break out, “Clearly the cage we’ve been using thus far isn’t sufficient to contain two werewolves. We could attempt to locate another cage by next month and separate...”

“No!” Willow and Oz cut him off as one, both sitting bolt upright and wavering on the verge of snarling defensively. Willow blushed immediately after, taken aback by her own behaviour, but she didn’t back down, adamant that she and Oz not be separated.

“It wouldn’t work,” Oz answered lowly, voice eerily like a wolf’s growl. “We’d break out to find each other. It would just make things worse.”

“No,” I suppose you’re right, then. Attempting to keep a mated pair divided would hardly be a solution. Perhaps another cage altogether? Much larger in scale, and far sturdier.”

“Far away,” Oz frowned. “Away from people.”

“And near the woods, so if we get out we hunt there instead,” Willow added softly.

“And with heavier bars, so we can’t get out in the first place.”

“I’ll begin searching immediately,” Giles announced with the fervent dedication of the regretful. He was blaming himself as well, trying to make amends for his perceived crime the only way he knew how. “If we’re truly unable to find suitable accommodations, we can construct a cage ourselves in a cave. I believe the Sunnydale area has quite the network.”

“Well, okay then,” Xander nodded with an awkward finality. “That’s dealt with then.”

“Not really,” Oz responded darkly, “unless somehow we resurrected somebody without me noticing.”

“Oz,” Giles said softly, meeting the younger man’s eyes for the first time since he’d arrived. “You’re entirely correct. There’s a dead young man who wasn’t dead yesterday, and that will never change. There’s not a thing we can do about that, but we can take precautions to ensure that it never happens again.”

“But it happened,” Oz replied evenly, “and that’s the problem, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but it’s too late to remedy that. And I understand what it’s like to live with that on your conscience, and how terrible of a burden death is to bear, but I promise you, you will go on, both of you.”

“No, Giles,” Willow spoke up for the first time, rising to her feet to punctuate her statement. “You don’t understand at all. You know what it’s like to cause someone’s death and to have people die because of what you’ve done, but you don’t understand what it’s like to be a monster like we are. There’s no way you could.”

“Willow…”

“We killed him, Giles. He’s dead and we killed him, and that’s never going away. We’re going to live with this forever, and I don’t know how. This life isn’t what I wanted, what either of us wanted, but it’s what is, and we have to learn to live with that.

“I don’t know how, but, I do know that you don’t either, so please, please don’t tell us that you do, because I can’t hear that right now. Not when I woke up with blood under my fingernails.”

“We should go,” Oz stood up to join her, linking their hands together, side to side and facing the others as if opposing them.

“Maybe. Okay,” Willow agreed, plodding toward the door with footfalls heavier than rocks.

“Will, Oz,” Buffy called just as they reached Giles’ wide door. “I don’t think this was your fault.”

“Thank you, Buffy” Willow answered softly, “but you’re wrong.

“This was my fault.”

*

Willow had thrown up three times and brushed her teeth as many times already that morning, but she could still taste the sweetly bitter tang of blood in her mouth. It wouldn’t leave, lingering just as the newsprint image of a torn, bleeding body stayed frozen against her eyelids, gruesomely red. It was haunting Willow, this crime of hers, and it was still so much less than she deserved.

Oz was even worse, drowning in a guilt as thick and gruesome as blood. He was angry at himself and his wolf and his curse and the world that had strapped that burden across his shoulders, and all of that rage was burning him up inside, escaping him in fits and bursts of sparks. He was more expressive than Willow had ever seen him, leaking feeling like radiation, potent and destructive. His guilt was so strong it was palpable; guilt over their killing and over turning her into a werewolf and guilt  
(self-loathing) over his own lycanthropy pulling him down like a riptide. As much  
as she hated herself right now, she hated seeing Oz like this even more.

“We’re not going to let this happen again,” Willow said quietly, rolling on her side to face Oz where he lay on his back beneath a tree.

“Don’t you think once is already too many times?” he responded, staring fixedly at a single leaf above his head.

“Yes,” Willow replied sadly, “I really do.”

“Maybe we don’t belong here,” Oz said slowly after a pause. His words were slow, as if they we’re sticky, coming slowly out of his mouth like molasses, bitter and thick.

“What?”

“We’re werewolves, Willow, not people, as hard as we pretend otherwise.”

“So what are you saying? That we shouldn’t stay in Sunnydale because we’re monsters? This is the only place in the world where monsters aren’t a minority.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t be around people.”

“Somewhere without people? Oz, is that even possible? Humans are everywhere, and the places they aren’t are empty for a reason.”

“I don’t know. We can live it the mountains, learn to control the wolf,” Oz answered, desperation like a drowning man in his voice.

“Alone?” Willow reached out a hand to touch Oz’s arm, trying fiercely to get through to him. It was like he was lost in his own mind, trapped in an endless cycle of guilt and fear and self-loathing, becoming more desperate and afraid the longer he thought about it. “But what good is taming the wolf if we lose the rest of us? If we go out there and spend all of our lives wrestling with our wolves, how do we remember to be human?”

“I need to control it,” Oz insisted, adamant.

“We can do that here,” Willow soothed, running her hand up and down his arm.  
“Giles knows stuff, he can help. And we’ll get a better cage, and Buffy will guard it, and this will never happen again.

“Oz, we can’t leave. Not now that we’ve done this.”

“I can’t control it, and I need to. First you, now this; I need to control it.”

“We have to stay. We killed someone and we have to pay for that. We need to atone. And that’s up to us to do ourselves, because the police think it was an animal attack and Giles won’t turn us in to the Watcher’s Council, so we have to serve our own punishment.”

“We took a life, Oz, and we can’t bring it back. But we can save other lives here, on the Hellmouth, and we have to do that. We have to make amends.”

“I know,” Oz said, taking a deep breath and letting his whole body relax into the earth. “I know. It’s just...” he trailed off, face tight as he searched for words. Then, he turned over to face her, and he looked more vulnerable than he ever had, honest emotion on his face.

“I’m scared, Will. I’m scared every day that I could lose control.”

“Me too,” she admitted, sliding her hand down his arm to intertwine their fingers. “But then I remember that you’re here to help me, and, well, it’s not so bad then.”

“Yeah?”

“I believe in you, Oz,” she answered simply. “You’re a good man, and you’re stubborn and you’re smart. You’re going to figure out how to control your wolf, and then you’ll help me. And we’ll do it together.”

Oz was quiet for a few long minutes, thinking deeply, so Willow watched him silently, stroking her thumb against his hand and his forehead smoothed out and his shoulders relaxed.

“I’m sorry I turned you,” he said finally. “I don’t know if I ever told you, but I am. I wish you didn’t have to live with this.”

“I wish you didn’t either.”

Oz smiled grimly in agreement, but didn’t answer for a few moments. “Some day,” he said finally, “we’ll realize that we couldn’t have changed this. That we’re not our wolves, just like those wolves aren’t Willow and Oz.”

“Maybe,” Willow agreed, “but not today.”

“No, not today.”

Oz fell silent again and Willow along with him for a few long minutes. There was a line somewhere, which demarcated the difference between the woman and the wolf, running through her like a river. Just as much as they were the same they were different, two souls shoved in one body, two halves of one whole. That was nearly impossible for Willow to wrap her mind around. And maybe that made her a monster, but maybe it didn’t, because Angel wasn’t a monster like Angelus was, and Buffy wasn’t a monster like Faith was. Maybe it wasn’t about what you were but about what you did, so instead of being complacent Willow was going to be a hero, save enough souls to fill this town, and mourn the one she had taken. Since it wasn’t waking up to find a dead body that would make her a real monster, it was laughing as she washed the drying blood off of her hands. It was about making choices, and Willow was choosing ‘no.’

“What do you say we go build us a cage?” she asked finally, feeling a few pounds lighter.

“Lead the way.”

 

fin.


End file.
